by S. G. Rogers
“Where’s Wesley?” Louise asked.
“Wesley and Lady Frederic are sitting at the front of the hall. It was crowded when my father and I arrived, so we were forced to sit back here,” Belle murmured. It’s amazing how easily the lies fall from my lips these days…in church, no less! The more I practice at dissembling, the better I become.
No clergyman was aboard to deliver a homily, so the service was quite short. The pipe organ played the hymn Eternal Father, Strong to Save. Captain Howe said a few words, read Psalm 107, and led everyone in a recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. One of the ship’s engineers brought out his Scotsman’s bagpipes and finished the service with a touching rendition of Amazing Grace. Afterward, passengers scattered, bent on distracting themselves for a few hours until lunch. Some took to their deck chairs with a book, and still others enjoyed the walking track and the beautiful view. Despite it being Sunday, many gentlemen headed into the smoking room for drinks and a lively game of cards.
Belle’s attempt to speak with Wesley came to naught. She’d lingered at the saloon doorway, hoping to catch him on the way out. But either he eluded her in the crush or he’d escorted his mother out of the saloon by the back door. She debated with herself about calling on him in his cabin. Although it was improper for her to do so, she would have no rest until she’d smoothed over their quarrel.
Just as she set foot on the staircase leading to the promenade deck, Louise called out. “There you are, Annabelle! If you’re not otherwise engaged, Eva, Stacy, and I would love to learn whist.”
Belle allowed herself to be coaxed into the drawing room. After all, I’ll see Wesley midday, at lunch. He can’t avoid me forever.
Chapter Thirteen
Missteps
WESLEY WAS DETERMINED TO OCCUPY the hours until lunch with Jules Verne. In other circumstances, he would have preferred to bring his book outside and relax in his deck chair. At the moment, however, he was in a dour mood and disinclined to chat with his neighbors about inconsequentialities.
Cavendish returned from his breakfast. His attire was as dapper as ever, and he was sporting a turned rosewood walking stick. Wesley glanced up from his book.
“That’s a handsome walking stick. I haven’t seen that one before.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. It has a rather clever feature.” Cavendish flipped open the rounded silver top to reveal a timepiece.
“Very nice, but the time is wrong,” Wesley observed.
“That depends on your perspective. It’s been set to Greenwich Mean Time ever since that was established in 1884.”
“Did you do that because you’re homesick?”
“Perhaps a trifle. I confess I’ll be happy to set foot upon my native soil once more.” He paused. “If you don’t require my services at present, I would like to take my exercise.”
“Please do. It’s a wonderful day for it.”
“Indeed it is.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Cavendish opened it to reveal Mr. Ley.
“Is the Duke of Mansbury available?”
“Mr. Ley!” Wesley put his book down and got to his feet. “Please come in.”
Mr. Ley stepped into the cabin, all the while peering at Cavendish. The valet, unperturbed by the scrutiny, bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
“That man is your valet?” Mr. Ley asked.
“Yes, he is. Is something wrong?”
“I can’t place him, but he seems familiar to me.” The gentlemen shook his head, as if to clear it. “Well, no matter. I wondered if I could impose upon you. You see, I need an opponent for shovelboard.”
“I’d be happy to oblige, but I’ve never played.”
“The rules are easy enough to learn. Come along, lad. The day is too fine to be cooped up inside, and we’ll by no means be assured of such good weather going forward.”
Wesley and Mr. Ley played shovelboard in the sunshine until noon, when Wesley invited Mr. Ley to join him and his mother for lunch. Due to the lovely weather and calm seas, his fellow passengers turned out for the midday meal in droves. Inwardly, Wesley congratulated himself on the way events were unfolding. He genuinely enjoyed Mr. Ley’s company, and the man’s presence provided him with a ready excuse to avoid Belle Oakhurst. And yet, even as he dined, Wesley could not stop his eyes from scanning the saloon in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. His heart gave a little leap when he saw Belle framed in the doorway along with Louise, Eva, and Stacy. His gaze immediately dropped to his bowl.
“Is the oxtail soup not to your taste?” Lady Frederic asked.
“Not at all. It’s quite delicious. Why do you ask?”
“You were frowning at it most severely just now.”
Wesley forced a chuckle to his lips. “I can’t think why.”
Belle and her friends sat at the end of a long table, next to a widows’ tour group from Ohio. Belle had noticed the group of five ladies walking on the promenade deck the day before. The wind had blown their black widows’ weeds about, giving the women the appearance of a flock of crows.
“It seems as if our principal activity onboard the ship is to while away the hours between meals,” Louise joked.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Eva said. “I’ve been learning loads, although I definitely need more practice at whist.”
“With five more days at sea, you’ll have the opportunity. I need more practice at dancing,” Stacy said. “I can’t wait for this afternoon. We’re to have a real accompanist and everything!”
“How about you, Annabelle? Have you learned anything new on this voyage?” Louise asked. “Perhaps we can teach you something American.”
“Have you ever been to a baseball game?” Belle asked.
The girls erupted into excitement, with an overlapping conversation about what they liked best about baseball.
“For me, it all comes down to the ball park food,” Louise said finally. “I love salted peanuts, roasted in the shell.”
“Horatio likes to collect baseball trade cards,” Stacy said. “He’s got a whole scrapbook full of them.”
Eva giggled. “Our dear brother harbors a secret desire to be a professional ball player, I’m absolutely certain.”
“But what are the rules of the game?” Belle asked.
The question set off another firestorm of responses. By the time her chicken pie entrée had arrived, Belle had a rudimentary grasp of the American sport. Now when Wesley talks about baseball, I won’t feel so left out—if indeed he ever speaks to me again. I’ll make things right between us—I must!
At length, the conversation turned from baseball to bicycles. Eva was longing to buy one, but Stacy thought they were unladylike. Lost in her thoughts, Belle fell silent.
“What do you think, Annabelle?” asked Louise.
“Er…I’m sorry. What was the question?”
“Should women take up bicycling?” Eva asked.
“My fiancé disapproves of ladies with bicycles, but I see no harm in it,” Belle said. “In fact, I believe the exercise would be quite beneficial.”
“Ha!” Eva gave her sister a smug smile. “I told you so.”
The spirited debate that ensued took Belle’s mind off her troubles for a little while.
A few minutes before two o’clock, Wesley and Cavendish arrived at the steerage exercise area to make sure everything was in order for the dance club meeting. The space, about three hundred square feet, was accessible by a separate staircase from the saloon deck, and was shielded from the sun by canvas tarps strung overhead. The few chairs left on the deck had been pushed to one side, and an upright piano was angled in the corner. Cavendish sorted through the sheet music stored in the bench, chose a selection of songs, then sat down at the instrument and warmed up his fingers with a few scales.
“My previous employer allowed me to use his piano, which was a very fine instrument indeed,” he said. “Nevertheless, I may be a little out of practice.”
He shifted from scales to a haunting m
elody.
“Tchaikovsky,” he said in response to Wesley’s quizzical glance. “Romeo and Juliet, Love Theme. But perhaps that doesn’t set the proper mood.”
His fingers danced along the keyboard. The notes of Chopin’s Minute Waltz cascaded from the piano like milky white cream poured from a silver pitcher. As he was finishing the piece, Louise descended the stairs.
“How very pretty,” she said. “I wish I could play the piano half as well.”
“Are you ready to help me practice, Miss Van Eyck?” Wesley asked.
“As ready as can be.”
Cavendish arranged a piece of sheet music on the music rack. “Shall we start with Voices of Spring, Your Grace?”
Although Wesley was unfamiliar with the song, he pretended otherwise. “Certainly.” As he faced Louise, however, Wesley’s throat suddenly went dry and his palms became moist. “Er…what do I do first?”
“You bow to the young lady…” Cavendish prompted.
“Oh, that’s right.” Wesley took a deep, ragged breath and bowed to Louise. “May I have this dance?”
She giggled as she offered him her hand. “Yes, thank you.”
So far, so good, Wesley thought.
After lunch, Belle excused herself to return to her cabin. There, she removed her Sunday dress and instead put on a gown with a full skirt suitable for dancing. Although it was not an ostentatious dress, Belle thought the lines made the most of her slender waist. In addition, the gold trim on the olive fabric brought out the gold in her eyes. As she arranged her hair, she debated about what to say to Wesley. Despite her best efforts, the words kept crumbling on her tongue like a sandcastle at high tide.
At two o’clock, she slipped on her gloves, left her cabin, and climbed to the promenade deck. Be it proper or not, she hoped to find Wesley in his cabin and ask for a word in private. A few minutes alone with him should be enough to clear the air, and they would still be able to attend the dance club meeting at the scheduled time.
Her knock at his door went unanswered. Lady Frederic was reclining in a deck chair nearby, reading a penny dreadful.
“Excuse me for interrupting, milady, but do you happen to know where His Grace has gone?” Belle asked.
“Oh, you’ll find Wesley and Cavendish at the dance club meeting, Miss Oakhurst.”
“Thank you.”
Puzzled, Belle descended to the saloon deck and hastened toward the stern of the ship. As she approached the stairs leading to the steerage exercise deck, music and laughter became audible. Am I late, or did the meeting start early? Midway down the staircase, Belle stopped abruptly and gripped the railing with both hands. Wesley and Louise were waltzing together down below, alone. The air in Belle’s lungs seemed to leave her body all at once and her knees threatened to buckle. He asked Louise to teach him how to dance, not me. Moisture pricked the backs of her eyelids, and she retraced her footsteps before she could be seen.
Belle kept her composure until she reached her cabin, and even then she wouldn’t allow more than a few tears to fall. In fact, she couldn’t give in to the wall of hurt that threatened to consume her. The time of the dance club meeting was quickly approaching. If she could not control herself, the ravages of sorrow would be written on her face, laid bare for everyone to see. Perhaps I can send a note to the group with the stewardess, begging off due to seasickness. No, that wouldn’t do; one of her friends might come to check on her, and she wouldn’t be able to blame swollen eyes and a red nose on mal de mer.
She blotted her face with a towel moistened by the water from her washbasin. Why do I care if he prefers to learn from Louise? Could it be hurt pride that was upsetting her so…or was it something deeper? I must cover my feelings with poise and smiles; otherwise I’ll disgrace my father and myself. This afternoon I’ll be the consummate actress, playing the part of a carefree young woman. It would be a lie, of course, but she was used to lying by now.
Half past two o’clock the dance club members began to assemble. As he waited, Wesley tried to ignore the nervous pit in his stomach. How can I be anticipating Belle’s appearance and dreading it at once? Eva, Stacy, Carl, and Horatio arrived first, tumbling down the stairs like a quartet of eager puppies. When Wesley didn’t see Belle among them, he suddenly realized he was holding his breath. Stephen and Mrs. Van Eyck appeared next, far more sedately.
“I decided to attend as a chaperone,” Mrs. Van Eyck said. “With all due respect to your valet.”
It was clear from the slightly mistrustful expression on Mrs. Van Eyck’s face she still didn’t know how to deal with Cavendish. With his usual aplomb, the valet took her attitude in stride and even found her a chair. Belle sailed into the meeting a few minutes late, as effervescent as a spring day.
“Hello! I’m so sorry if I’ve kept anyone waiting.” She glanced around the deck. “What a wonderful space we have to practice.”
Despite his vow not to stare at Belle, Wesley realized he was doing exactly that.
“Yes, it truly is,” Louise said.
“How shall we get started?” Stephen asked.
Stacy cleared her throat. “If nobody objects, may I suggest some simple rules? We change partners at the end of every waltz, and no gentleman can dance with the same lady until he has first danced with all.”
“I like that rule,” Carl said. “That way, nobody can avoid dancing with me.”
“You give yourself too little credit, Mr. Stenger,” Belle said. “It’s been a pleasure watching you improve.”
“In that case, Miss Oakhurst, may I claim you for the first dance?” Carl asked.
“I’d be delighted.”
After Carl and Belle took their places, Wesley led Stacy onto the dance floor, Stephen was paired with Eva, and Horatio partnered Louise. As he danced with Stacy, Wesley’s confidence grew. The waltz movements, if not yet rote, were at least familiar. He was grateful his feet seemed to know what to do, because Belle’s presence was very distracting. He could hear her giving Carl encouragement and praise. Belle can be awfully kind, Wesley thought. With a mighty effort, he wrenched his attention away from her and back to his own partner.
Her waltz with Carl ended, the couples rotated, and Belle found herself paired with Stephen. To her relief, he behaved in an exemplary fashion. He’s likely on his best behavior because his mother is watching! As their dance went on, she even enjoyed herself to the extent she was able. When the last chords of the music faded, the next rotation brought Belle face to face with Wesley. She curtsied in response to his bow, and they jockeyed slightly to achieve the proper hold. Please don’t let him feel me trembling! Cavendish played a few bars as an introduction and Wesley flinched—as if unsure whether or not to move.
“Wait,” Belle whispered. “Ready…now.”
Exactly on the beat, Wesley stepped out and Belle followed. They made one complete rotation, and then another. His careful and studied movements were common for a beginner, but his instincts, grace, and timing were admirable. I knew Wesley would be a good dancer. A burst of pride brought a brief smile to her lips, followed closely by the surge of emotions she’d kept at bay. To her horror, her eyes grew moist and her throat tightened. She focused on the space over his right shoulder and for the remainder of the waltz she worked the multiplication table in her head to avoid thinking about anything else. At the end, she stepped back and curtsied.
“Well done, Wesley,” she murmured.
“I nearly blundered at the start, didn’t I?”
“An understandable mistake for anyone unfamiliar with the music.”
Belle rotated into Horatio’s arms. Her inner turmoil eased as she waltzed with him, until Wesley danced past with Louise. His playful smile and easy manner with Louise drove a sliver of ice through Belle’s heart.
Eighteen times eighteen is three hundred twenty-four.
Chapter Fourteen
Opinions
AFTER AN HOUR, Cavendish took a break. Stacy sat at the piano, played a few chords, and then launched i
nto a familiar tune. Eva laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Stacy, not Chopsticks!”
“Why not? It’s a waltz, after all,” Stacy retorted.
“Indeed it is.” Cavendish strode over to Mrs. Van Eyck and bowed. “Madam, may I have this dance?”
Louise clapped her hands, jumping up and down with glee. “Oh, yes, Mama! I’d dearly love to see you waltz.”
Mrs. Van Eyck blushed, but rose from her chair. “I don’t mind if I do.”
Amongst delighted chatter, the younger people stepped aside and allowed Cavendish to lead Mrs. Van Eyck to the center of the floor. As Stacy played the Chopsticks waltz again, Belle drifted to the back. While all eyes were on Cavendish and Mrs. Van Eyck, Stephen came to stand next to Belle.
“I’d like to offer my apology, Miss Oakhurst. I believe I may have offended you this morning,” he murmured.
“Indeed, Mr. Van Eyck, you imposed on me.”
He pouted. “Do you dislike me that much?”
“I don’t dislike you at all. It’s just that my affections are engaged elsewhere.”
“I hope you don’t mean Wesley,” he scoffed. “Clearly he’s besotted with my sister.”
“I was speaking of my fiancé, sir!”
Her voice was louder than she intended. Several heads turned in their direction, and Belle felt Wesley’s gaze rest upon her for a few moments. Stephen waited to speak until everyone was once again focused on the waltzing couple.
“You should know, I’m not easily discouraged,” he whispered.
Belle stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t lack for nerve!”
He gave her a wink and an impudent grin. “That’s what renders me so appealing.”
The waltz ended. Amidst applause, Cavendish bowed to Mrs. Van Eyck and escorted her off the dance floor.
“That was beautiful, Mama!” Louise exclaimed.